


Solacstalgiac Kisses - 31 Days of BBop & Streamline

by CybertronianBeing



Series: The Never-Ending Adventures of BBop & Streamline [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cleaning, Concussions, F/F, Fear of Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Sleepy Kisses, Surprise Kissing, Tears, Trapped, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CybertronianBeing/pseuds/CybertronianBeing
Summary: 31 lovely days featuring everybody's favorite lovey dovey borderline wrecker and seeker. Each day features a different type of kiss.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Original Cybertronian Character(s)/Original Cybertronian Character(s)
Series: The Never-Ending Adventures of BBop & Streamline [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163519
Kudos: 2





	1. Day 1 - Shut Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!!!!!! IM BACK CUTIES!!!!!! sorry for the million year hiatus. i was fighting depression, but streambop got me thru and so did my friends. i love you. my inbox is ALWAYS open and so is my email at iwaoihairu@gmail.com mwah
> 
> BBOP BELONGS TO MY BESTIE BAYDN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so maybe u should...shuuuuutttt uuuuuppppppppp...if only u would shhhhhhuuuutttt uuuuuuuuuuppppppp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mwahhhhhhh i luv yall am

The berth beneath BBop had that shiny coldness to it. The baby blue and crisp white, blinding lights filled her. Stuck its grimy fingers into her eyelids even without their retraction, burning through the thin lining. She registered thin crisp sheets over top, a thick blanket coating that. 

Warmth that usually pressed up against her: unmistakably absent. Recharging alone normally never presenting itself as a valid option, but from what she guessed it was induced and not voluntary initially. Something held her hand tightly and protectively, she hoped it wasn’t tape or bandages. 

The bond registered Streamline was nearby, so the wrecker really didn’t need to open her optics to know who it was, but opened her bright blues anyway. Things pieced themselves together in the swimming pain meds combined with an up in strength from steroids probably. A welcome sight of perked wings but dead asleep seeker with helm buried in servos, one straying to grip BBop’s.

Her vents moved her body evenly, lightly, her back an awkward shape to rest on the berth with a taller chair underneath. 

“Good morning, sleepyhelm.” 

“Mornin’ dad.”

“It’s the middle of the evening, but alright, yeah.”

“How would you expect me to know?”

“I wouldn’t. Just wanted to peel your paint.”

“Sure you did.”

“How’s your pain scale?”

“Low, but I’m not feeling as nasty as I usually do. Not super foggy. Different meds?”

“Lower grade, mostly just to keep you asleep. Limit the effects. You got rocked pretty hard. Knocked you out. She said you got blindsided.”

“I got caught off guard, that’s all.”

“Caught off guard, alright. You had a pretty nasty concussion, kid. Just keep resting. Try to go back to sleep if you can help it. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” BBop finally said, resting her helm back on the inclined top half of the berth set to keep energon flow consistent. Exhaustion did pull at her optics. The lost time bothered, though. The medic offered a squeeze of her shoulder plating and sauntered off to check on another one from BBop’s unit who’d suffered from decently minor lacerations. 

Her servo came to settle on the top of the seeker’s helm and stroked it gently. The hand holding her other free hand shifted, Streamline’s helm lifting with foggy optics to online. A huge grin found her face plates at the sight of her best friend’s awareness. Airy and thin, her voice cleared and then: “Hey.”

“Hey,” although speech had previously come easy with Ratchet, BBop’s voice choked with discomfort not from her dull helmache but with sickening nerves. The world fading away over and over again after the slam of the butt of the blaster that found the back of her helm playing like a broken record. Letting her guard down. What was she thinking?

Streamline’s small digits traced the wrecker’s face gently and cupped her cheek with little lines, “how are you feeling?”

“Weak. I’m sorry I messed up,” the simplisticness of her spoken word forced a frown back on to Streamline’s face. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

“You didn’t mess anything up, you just got unlucky, sweetspark,” Stream’ shrugged and continued to track her faceplate gently until a strong servo shot up to grab her wrist roughly to put a pause to her tracings. A shock shook her spine as BBop’s optics zeroed in with a rough smoke, her visor absent from her face. “You were strong, BBop.”

“I wasn’t strong. I’m not strong. I’m we—” The light seat Streamline had been sitting in clattered backwards away from the two of them as she forced herself to stand in a flash to shut the other up. BBop’s intake, still ready to continue, covered with the mouth of the seeker who just wanted her to shut up. The only one talking was probably the concussion.  
It was quick, only a moment to get her to stop talking.


	2. Day 2 - Palm Kisses - The More You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Streamline reached for BBop’s servo and brought the palm towards herself and kissed it lightly, hoping that whatever she’d read would actually work...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYSSSS THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRIIIITE.

Cliff diving. One of their favorite past times. Whether it was in the day or the night, or the weather nasty or sunnier than orange juice on a Sunday morning, it was one of the most fun. When the war got a bit quieter, when finally an allowance of actual leave was allowed (although generally one had to ask for that, but who asked Magnus anything anymore, right?) the two got out more. 

Had to release energy somehow. Staying all cooped up within the dull shapen base with it’s bright hall lights and winding corridors and annoying gray walls at every turn could make a ‘Bot stir-crazy. Wasn’t exactly built to be pleasing for the optic. Built to withstand a bomb, pretty much like everything else was. How everyone else was designed those days. Natural selection and all. 

The landscape was pretty though. Most of the industrial laden pieces were mere rubble, left for the Constructicons and Motivums to do their best to rebuild—all for it to be knocked down like children’s building blocks all over again—the broken pieces. Exhaustion rendered the dust to settle, she tired from the old war that ravaged her down to her very core. When there was a break, she took most of it, all she could get. A deep vent in order in the form of a low rumble like the giant stomach of Cybertron signaled hunger. 

She hungered for peace. That would please the hunger pangs from within her thin, emaciated stomach, but rather her screams echoed farther than the reaches of any other location. In the forms of the fallen mecha littering her streets, leaking energon into her very roots. She wept for them, acid rain temporarily forced all to hide themselves within shelter. 

Yet, finally, the sky cleared. BBop and Streamline planned their escape and as per usual Harry Houdini’d out. The long drive past the new mirages in the early afternoon sun sizzled the desert-like surface. Baking their plates with existential joy, it seemed, and excitement for the chance to wind down. 

Engine hums revved closer and closer to their little location, secluded from most others’ knowledge. Primus’ Gift, they called it. Their own little cove with towering cliffs and surrounding dense marsh. No waterfall, so the noise never betrayed...unless it rained of course. Ivy clinched to the rocks for dear life in blues, purples, and greens with fluorescent grace. 

The little veins an entirely different color than the outer exoskeleton, they seemed eerie without the sun rendering them see-through. Like energon pumped through their very lines, they glowed with fungus growth.

Already speedily toasty, the water piddled with marine life lightly at the surface and all-but beckoned them verbally to jump in. BBop sprinted up the side of the cliff, clamoring up the patch they’d trodden from years and years of use. 

“If I catch you, I’m pushing you in!” Streamline screamed behind her, lagging behind on the drive just a little bit, as the wrecker apparently had discovered a shortcut sometime earlier and swerved before Streamline could think twice, beating her there. 

“You won’t! You won’t!” BBop giggled. Sure enough, she made it to the top before being caught and dove gracefully into the water and kicked off the bottom to reach the surface. Cool relief prickled her skeleton and ran underneath her armor, clearly not quite air-tight.   
Streamline followed, folding her wings behind her to achieve aerodynamics more efficiently. “Almost hit me, fragger.”

“There was water in my audials, all I heard was: ‘that was awesome, fragger’ or something like that,” after that she received a face-plate full of water. 

“You liar,” more water. BBop retreated towards the shallows, but a sneaky Streamline caught up and pushed her underneath the sparkling surface and dove down, their suspension with perfect buoyancy captured both the darkness of the depths and the sun’s rays warming the top. 

A grin found her face-plates, and she held her hand out face-up, as if she needed something. 

Confusion crossed BBop’s malleable features, her blue hues soft with the sun’s grace and optics especially pretty against the murky background. Almost distracted from the task, Streamline reached for BBop’s servo and brought the palm towards herself and kissed it lightly, hoping that whatever she’d read would actually work. 

If not, this would look really, really stupid. The internet lies and she’d never trust anything from Ratchet’s botany book ever, ever, ever again if this was a random speculation and not actual fact. 

Although she’d mentally prepared for it not to work, she wanted it to. Whatever the phenomena was, it was a cool theory even if it wasn’t actually real. As soon as she moved her lips away from the palm of BBop’s servo, her hand burst alight, tracing her fingerprints and individual palm indentions beautifully with a flower-like ink design. 

It erupted at the base of the kiss, and sprinted to stretch vines all across her digitprints, the petals intricately using the reaching palm readings she had to create shaped petals said to reflect one’s personality and bounds of potential. The more petals, the better predicted future. 

Streamline didn’t pay much mind to that superstition, but was merely amazed that it worked at all. Did note, however, that the petals reached all the way to the back of BBop’s scarred servo and reached up her wrist with bright, neon colors that matched her optics as well as hues of yellow and ultraviolet purple. 

Staring at her own hand with intake agape, she stuck her other blue, chipped servo towards Stream’ with conviction that somehow her amica possessed magical powers, or something ridiculous like that. 

Stream smiled and moved her servo to steady herself in the lopsided water, kissing BBop’s other palm lightly. It, too, lit up beautiful. 

The pure of spark burst alight with the Judas’ Kiss. Seemed to be a load of scrap, but obviously it wasn’t. 

Somehow the plants they’d seen at the bottom, the reefs and coral life had the ability to do something like that. 

The more you know the more you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they are so beautiful 🥰
> 
> anyway, hit me with kudos or a comment if u feel so inclined. day 3 is going up tmr mwah


	3. Day 3, pt. 1 - Walk Into The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard & fast kiss before facing the blaze. 
> 
> alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying a one-line split format. we'll see how it goes

“BBop—NO,” Her voice shook, braided with pain. I had ahold of her armpits from behind, dragging her backwards to hide behind some rubble. It didn’t look good. Anxiety boiled over in my throat, burning the lining. Little needles pricked tears in my optics at the sight of her life blood trail left behind. 

Even on the hugest adrenaline spike in the history of the universe, she wouldn’t have been able to stand up much less help shoot our way out. We’d walked right into a trap, despite warnings. If she could put weight, it’d be blackout central even quicker. A pass-out was inevitable. 

I didn’t doubt my ability to carry her, fireman’s hold wouldn’t be hard by any means, but I needed both of my servo blasters if we hoped to get out of here, especially because our combined firepower was sliced in half. If I had to hold her with one, it’d be cut by three quarters of our total shot coverage. 

If her pedes weren’t so jacked she may be able to hold herself in a piggy-back—which the numbness and loss of movement ability began to distantly ping through the bond—it was possible but not plausible. 

Definitely not now. We’d have to play the waiting game. With no grenades and an estimated few minutes at the MOST before she lost consciousness, I’d be on my own until help arrived. 

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. 

Frustration forced high pitched sobs from Streamline’s throat, and she bit down on her own digits until blood leaked from her mouth, too. I wanted to panic, freak the hell out. At least twenty nail-like industrial screws the size only slightly thinner than Earthen metal fence posts pierced all over from about her waist down. 

Courtesy of a claymore-type trigger trap I’d actually helped design before for our own base’s security measures, usually for things like restricted areas and such. Explosives had always kinda been my thing. 

Not like this. She was pinned, and not by an easy fix. Not like mentality held her down. A potential bleed-out did, threatening grey-outs of her vision did. I could do nothing to put a pause on the pain or the rapid bleeding or the incoming troops truly trapping us in. She’d merely tripped the beginning of it. 

They had been ready. 

We’d strayed for barely a second to investigate separate areas, make better time, be more efficient. 

And then it happened. 

It’s hilarious when people remark that they see things traumatic like that unfold in slow motion in the moment. Let me break it to you: it doesn’t. Everything happens and it runs its course so ridiculously fast.  
Then, you get to watch it happen over and over again in your helm in HD slow motion gory perfection.

Cool, right?

“Relax. Relax,” I said, taking a knee to pull her digits out of her intake and hold them gently, mindful of the new indentations. A quick peek yielded the location of incoming vehicons, but we had a second, “It’s okay, I’m gonna take them out as best I can.”

“No—no, please BBop don’t do that,” The way she grabbed at me, smearing energon on my face and arm. Suddenly it occurred to me she didn’t quite get what I meant, a mental face palm on my part. 

“I’m not gonna move the nails, I meant I was gonna take the ‘Cons out love,” To my bright content, she smiled at that slightly, and so did I. “Can you stay awake for me? Pretend like staying awake is your way of fighting with me,” I took another anxious gander to find them all closer, guns blazing.

“Can you do that for me?”

A nod of determination. Of resolve. Damn I was so fraggin’ proud. I lifted a servo to cup her face and trace away a tear track with my thumb. She leaned into the non-hostile, non-painful contact. Hard. My lips pressed into hers quick and heavy. We didn’t have much time. 

I’d spent a bit of time beforehand memorizing how those lips felt against my own. The roughness of them, the somehow caressing and endearing way she gave as much as she got. I didn’t want to forget exactly how that felt, and I wanted her to know—If she didn’t make it or if I didn’t—

That I loved her. 

“Be strong,” She whispered after me. I nodded. 

That was her way to let me know, too. 

That she loved me. 

I stood and readjusted her back against the spiderweb-cracked wall and traced the top of her wing. 

Sun glinting off the shiny edge, I took hold of my weapon and unmistakably felt a spiritual reach for my form. 

“Stay awake.”

Be strong. 

I will.


	4. Day 3, pt. 2 - Cliffy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heavy angst😀

Images. Tons of them. Speeding faster than the moments I hoped to forget. It’d been lucky duckling scrap that we’d found a way to fight our way out of that slag. He’d been massive, towering taller than two BBops stacked together on top of each other. 

I’m not sure where he came from and to be frank it didn’t matter. I just didn’t ever want to meet him or his battleaxe ever again. 

It swung out of nowhere, the pit-borne axe taller than my amica’s taller-than-the-skies stature. Nothing was taller than her to me. I mean nothing. She could reach out and rake the stars with her claws, her giant grin taking bites from the planets revolving around us and us alone. 

That’s what we were convinced of, anyway.

She took the brunt of his damage physically, deflecting swings with her own warhammer in the form of golden streaks and her determined optics squinted in more than just a little resolve. He was bigger, faster, stronger, taller than anything we’d ever come up against. He took out legions (or at least that’s what my blurry recollections brought back) of our scouts (of course in comparison to how many we had at our base) with one ground-level cut. 

Blow after blow she blocked in the glances I stole before covering her back again with full-focus, cutting down what I hoped to be just as many Decepticon soldiers. Forced to retreat, we ended up with our backplates against each other, weapons dripping with energon at the ready in front, heavy venting and cooling fans kicking far past overdrive. 

And then she wasn’t. Well, better words would serve that she was somehow knocked into me with blunt force when something...hot. Burning hot. Hit her in the chest plates. Immediately I was concerned for her chest speakers, and when we had bowled down about twenty soldiers like parting the Red Sea, my concerns were validated. 

Slews of swear words escaped my dermas when other things came to my attention that her adrenaline had masked from the bond and maybe even her own pain receptors. Energon dripped like a saturated sunrise from the raw and burned mesh surrounding the new injury that had completely smashed through her chest plates and crackled through her ribcage nearly entirely. 

I was gentle, but felt for the extense of the damage and recognized several fractures and splinters.

She whimpered when I pressed, “I know, I know. I’m so sorry, it’s going to be alright.”

Wasn’t quite sure of that. 

A very exhaustive escape including my quickly grabbing ahold of her and hovering shakily on top of a nearby building that threatened to collapse and an awesome-timing and located ground bridge aided in a timely leave taken. 

One of the scouts must’ve snatched up her warhammer and propped it against our quarters’ door nicely. Noticed it on my way to pick up some touch-up paint for her armor and some extra blankets. On a different note, I planned to seek out whoever it ended up to be and personally thank them. That thing meant a whole lot to her. 

Out for the count, her helm lulled back on the medical berth that someone—can’t  
remember who—helped me lift her onto. Worse for wear wasn’t even accurate enough. An extremely large piece of spiral shrapnel had embedded itself right through her hip skeletal support on the left side, from what I could tell, and impaled all the way through downwards, ending between her thighs pretty far down, almost at the knee at a diagonal. 

Penetrating through the armor that rested on her hip. Her entire left...tibia-type thigh bone had been shattered.

What in the world? When was there an explosion? How had that embedded downwards like that? 

Like the different liquidy ingredients in something like...a cake, all the little things mix together in a blurb of randomness and lumps of details you can sort of make out and kind of not really. Did that make any sense? 

Basically, all the details and happenings don’t really stay consecutive. 

Thanking Primus thoroughly and over and over and over again for them putting her completely under for the metal removal operation and reconstruction of her intricate chest speakers. Hearing her scream around the staff’s excuses for short supply wasn’t something I was quite willing to get over. Just take away her pain. 

All the instruments were connected, as always, but nothing but deep slumber echoed through the bond. No anxiety as the needles were pressed in, monitors connected. 

I was thankful. More than so. 

Therefore, I caught some Z’s too. She’d be able to feel the regained strength through the bond, too. It’d do BBop some good. She could use it. Exhaustion and a drop from the high of adrenaline and endorphins and worry brought heavy lids and finally rest at her berthside. 

A few hours later, when the medbay was darker and less bustle-y, she woke up and it startled me, I think. The sudden flow of pain and surprise and just merely coming to. 

“Hey—hi. What’s your pain scale right now, sweetspark? Where’s it hurting?” I didn’t mean to bombard her. A fleeting kiss found her servo, and it shook underneath my hold. 

All I wanted was for her to smile genuinely.

“S-seven,” Came her shaky reply and it tore me apart. Jumping up, I ventured to find Ratty to help her out with some more pain meds through fluids. It needed to happen fast or irrational things were to occur. 

He wasn’t doing much in his own office. Reading, I think. 

“Sleeping beauty awake? Need new meds?”

How did he already know? I nodded and he got everything set, but they weren’t running their course fast enough at all. Her face was tight with pain, involuntarily revealing all too much. My spark broke. 

“I’m right here, love. It’s alright, I promise. The pain medications will start working soon.”


	5. Day 4 - Your Battle is Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BBop suffered major injuries and struggles to cope with the gravity of that situation.

“That call had my name on it.”

“Turns out: I’m retiring it from the list.”

“You can’t do that! I have to go!”

“BBop, relax. It’s not something you can be embarking on right now. You’re barely recovering from surgery that happened last week. You’re barely on your pedes without centralized nerve pain. If you go, you could damage yourself even farther. It’s my responsibility not to let you go.”

The bitter reply didn’t bother Streamline much, just made her hurt. Stopping her wasn’t something that she took lightly or wanted to do. Taking her other half out of a mission they were requested specifically to be a duo for didn’t sound good, but the more dangerous idea was to take BBop anyway. To ignore the obvious was to welcome the oblivious. 

To know grace you must first know sin. 

The last time she didn’t listen to her gut feeling she’d been impaled by at least twenty full or shards of industrial nails used generally for architecture. That absolutely would not be allowed to happen to her amica. The seeker would do every single thing in her power to prevent that possibility. Whatever it took. 

“Your responsibility isn’t to stop me from going anywhere.”

“You may not think so and that’s completely okay. You are going to rest here whether or not you like it much while I go and do what I need to do to get you off of the mission roster so you can heal.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I can and I will,” To put it simply: deadaft serious. Heavily armoring up, heaving a second layer to click into place especially on and around her pedes which were still mildly tender and vulnerable from...past experiences. It’d slow her down, but make her stronger in her partner’s absence. Often only choosing to wield two swords on specific occasions, the situation deemed it necessary as well as a longer ranged sniper rifle for the endeavor should do as much industrially as it could to compensate from the army’s greatest weapon’s absence. 

Work double the effort and the hope was to make it as if BBop was still there and not brutally injured. 

If BBop put a pause on her stubbornness, she’d also be able to admit that it would be entirely impossible for her to focus on anything but the pain that shot up her left leg sprouting from her ankle and bone shatteringly reminded her of the past’s agony all the way down to her toes and up above her knee. 

Pain tolerance was her thing.

This wasn’t something to merely tough out. And yet, the mission still screamed at her from the back of her processor forward and bugged the sweet son of Primus out of her. 

“Sit down, please,” Stream’s voice softened. “It’ll be okay. Your battle is here, not there.”

“No, I can’t stay here.”

An eerie smile to hide from the nerves crept onto Streamline’s face and she leaned forward and pricked her neck probably harder than she intended to. The grin wasn’t maniacal in nature and was more...awkwardness to a certain extent. She didn’t really know what to do, and initially maybe it was intended to be a more loving smile.

Nevertheless, the initial panic that gripped the bond from BBop’s side chilled the room to unnerving lows for a split second. She shot up and grabbed at the seeker desperately as numbness gripped every piece and jut of her existence. 

“Streamline! No no no, please don’t let me go like this. I want to go with,” Her body began to give out and limpness ensued, which Streamline only took hold of her to hold her still, planting a meaningful kiss on the wrecker’s lips. She held her there, trying to calm her nerves, let her know everything would be okay. BBop disappeared into rest, into sleep still clamoring yet eased into calm by the embrace of their lips on their own. 

“Relax. It’s alright, now,” She stood and rubbed a servo on BBop's forehelm gently, covering her with a light blanket and clicking out the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit rough but it's aight.


	6. Day 5; pt. 1  - Why Are You Numbing Your Side of the Bond?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiding wounds.

We got lost in the chaos, sucked into a vacuum of anxiety by the tornado such as our base’s busy grounds. Somehow we’d been separated for a moment after return, the jostling and running and rushing. I wasn’t injured near at all save for the tweak of my knee-joint that wouldn’t barely put me out for a half day with an extremely slight limp off of adrenaline that hadn’t quite worn off still. 

BBop was, however. Both injured and off of the adrenaline. 

My exhausted processor, exhausted optics lost her (somehow) and couldn’t relocate the wrecker that towered over about half of the others bustling around. I kept it together enough not to knock a hole in the hall wall. I wasn’t five. Think, Streamline, think. Use whatever you’ve got up there. 

Pain from the shoulder area and a phantom pain I judged as one of her speakers—my processor almost didn’t know how to fathom that kind of pain because, duh, I didn’t possess any of those—ripped through the bond like lightning. To stave off the detection, BBop numbed that immediately. 

Where in the world did she go?

Wandering aimlessly wouldn’t help especially because that wouldn’t exactly be out of the way, so I pinged a comm-request helplessly. If she didn’t answer, I’d wring her neck later, no doubt about that. But before that, all I wanted was to help and THEN later kill her for not answering. 

Assuming she didn’t answer at all. On the off chance she did answer, I’d skip the second part unless she decided not to respond with where she’d gone off to. 

Assuming she didn’t just merely get lost. 

Assuming she didn’t just merely disappear on purpose because she was hiding such a wound from me or something to that effect. 

The second part would indeed not be skipped if she was hiding anything. I will kill that wrecker and will not hesitate in any regard whatsoever. 

“What’s up?” Her voice shook nervously, like she was hiding something or...was in pain. 

“Where’d you end up? The medbay is packed and the halls are ridiculous...that’s probably why we got separated so easily.”

“I stepped away to...help someone real quick,” I narrowed my optics with disbelief but was of course proud of her for helping someone, “And had to patch up a little scrape.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m completely fine and will continue to be fine.”

What the frag kind of language is that? Tell me what you did with the real BBop. That’s not how she speaks. Ever. Normally it’s a mix of crackhead randomness or something intensely focused. That was neither. 

“What’s going on, BBop? Where are you?”

“Sorry! Can’t talk right now gotta help this dude, bye!”

Oh, she is SO dead. 

I couldn’t ask Ratchet right now, as he was busy with other patients and the chaos of post-bloody-battle. So many were being carried in by their respective partners and lovers and whoever could carry them; strangers. Somehow even though all were part of the same base or even the same squadron, it became easy to get lost amongst all the members. Alpha base wasn’t small. 

Anywho, I set out to find her so I could beat her stubborn aft. Hollow pain from, again, the same erupting places reminded me of her discomfort and replaced my content determination with a pretty thick frown that, like syrup, would have to swim through molasses until it would be turned upside down. 

Finally frustration halted all location efforts, and I guess our quarters would’ve been a better place to start rather than an aimless wander around our base. Of course, I found her asleep—and I was a bit offended because it was without me—in her berth. It was light, though, only like a power nap. It was like she was super alert, or something. Turning my helm to the side in confusion but also sighing in relief that she finally had been located, I shut the door and crawled into bed behind her. 

A flinch and she was awake as soon as I wrapped my servos around her chest plates. 

“Hm? Oh, hey.”

Was that a flinch from pain?

“Care to explain yourself?” I whispered and felt her shoulder and a rough wrap responded to my digit tips. She flinched when I barely touched. Hm.

“Nope. I want to go back to sleep.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“It was just a little scrape.”

“Then why are you numbing your side of the bond?”

* * * * *

Alright, everything was not fine and it was not just a little scrape. Now, you’re probably thinking: wow Streamline. It was pretty obvious before. You should’ve known. 

And, yes, you’re right. I absolutely should’ve known from the beginning she was hiding something far more serious than she let on. Lately it’s seemed like a common theme for allowing each other a little more wiggle room, a little more opportunity for elbow room. In an attempt to become slightly more independent, we’ve just ended up allowing each other to get away with things that should never, ever happen in the first place. Yeah, I know. Irresponsible. 

Ratchet’s been busy lately, and it’s perhaps felt a little bit like BBop and I were back to taking full care of each other again and perhaps we resent that. That sounds like a big huge excuse and to be truthful: it is one. 

Excuses are reasons, however. 

I couldn’t make up a good enough reason for Ratchet when I knocked on his quarters door at a quarter-’till four in the morning. He wasn’t sleeping. He usually doesn’t at normal hours, anyway. 

“I need your help.”

That’s what I finally said to him after we tried by ourselves, as per usual. 

Normally I don’t resent my stature or strength...or the lack thereof, as that’s just not what I was built for. I wasn’t created for the restraining of individuals, and therefore wasn’t in the business for such, either. 

BBop, on the other servo, absolutely was. She could, upsettingly so, just manhandle me to do something like clean out a wound. Didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t escape. 

Now, me trying to do something...simple, like clean out a wound, wouldn’t be so easy. I couldn’t even hold one of BBop’s servos down with all my weight and strength. It just...didn’t work that way. 

I tried, anyway. 

I can’t quite explain how proud I was of BBop, though. Yeah, I have to admit I was proud and honestly surprised at how hard she worked to keep it all from me. No, it didn’t make me happy and honestly pissed me off to a pretty great extent.

Go ahead and insert a Streamie pouty face here: she should’ve just told me. I would’ve been more proud, then. 

We don’t need to get negative, here. She toughed it out, like always. That never ceased to make me proud. There’s no doubt I was so, so pissed off at her, but she’d been so strong. No wonder she was our central pillar, standing tall. 

Every sparring session, she collected herself. Not only that, she also kept her shoulder always opposite away from me. I don’t quite know why she put all that effort into hiding that from me, but she did. Very well, in fact. 

Unfortunately. 

Took me three entire days to crack her code. I know, terrible, right? It occurred pretty haphazardly, and not how I wanted it to. I hated seeing her cry. Who doesn’t hate seeing their most loved one cry? When the tears roll down her face, it seems as though the strength is leaving her body, and it visibly slackens even when it’s small, airy tears. 

I am terrified. She gave up hiding it. It hurt that bad, and the bond flowed with openness and a sharp phantom pain above my shoulder that felt almost...watery. It didn’t feel as it did before. 

Generally that’s the feeling of one of her speakers blowing out, or it’s been in the past. Tears track her face. She’s whimpering in pain right in front of me as she reveals her shoulder and speaker like she’s laying out her life for me to see. I draw back in terror. Sticky infection a different color than the lifeblood that should’ve hardened over is spread all the way down the nearly vertical slice that started at the top of her shoulder speaker and drug down to her collar structure. 

Cries of agony and shame escape in little pittering waves as her stares chill my spine, and the wound is free for the air and movement to attack it. Seeing the size of it now, I’m shocked by how she managed to pass it off as a ‘little scrape’. 

“Breathe, breathe sweetspark. It’s okay, we’re gonna clean that out and it’ll be just fine, I promise. We can rest afterwards, sound like a plan?”

“No, I don’t want to clean it out, Stream.”

“You don’t have a choice...we have to.”

You know what, BBop, I really didn’t want to clean it out either. I’d rather it heal all on its own with me not having to cause you so much pain. 

Slag. I recognized that color, now. That coolant fluid leaked from her busted speaker and into the bloody slice. The infection reflected the same color. Sweet Solus Prime, BBop. 

Like I mentioned before: trying to keep her still was a complete failure, and quite frankly a hit to the mouth...literally. Her several flails hit me square in the nose or mouth after freeing a servo. 

I really didn’t know how to approach anything regarding this situation. Normally she soaks a cloth and holds it for me, but I can’t get her still enough. Her strength is unmatched in this situation, and I don’t stand a chance. Not against a hurting, crying BBop. 

I’ll admit it pulls on my weak spark strings when she’s in pain, and I don’t do what I should do, and I don’t have the taller frame to make up for it. 

We’d have to depend on her ability to keep herself still as best as possible. I took our antibacterial alcohol and sighed, wanting to say something but wasn’t sure of what exactly. 

Taking position, I sat behind her and braced my pede against the wall in a little corner where the wall forced itself inside a bit and wrapped one servo around her midriff, the other gripping the bottle of cleaning supply, a towel beside. I’d just guess at the time I wouldn’t be able to be distracted by. 

Cold liquid got everywhere. Immediately she shot forward away from me and I tightened my grip to compensate. To no avail. I held for...a decent thirty little microkliks before she truly got away, standing in front of me with sobs escaping her. I shot up to wipe what was dribbling from underneath the wound, sighing. Lifting the free servo, I stole away her tears gently and gave her horns a little rub by getting onto my tippy-toes. 

This cycle went on over and over again. I wish I could say the times I could hold her got longer, but they never did. The echoing, agonizing screams continued to haunt me on loop, and they wouldn't stop. “Breathe, love, breathe.”

“Alright, alright what do you need?” He rubbed at his optics. Maybe he had been sleeping.

“BBop’s got...a bit of a problem. We tried to clean a wound out and I’m not strong enough to hold her.”

“Head to the medbay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I write a continuation??? probably not,,,,,,,,


	7. Day 5; pt. 2 - Hate Being Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> p a i n

“You know the human equivalent of their hamstring? That’s what’s hurting, I think. It started...during my run, I guess. I don’t know. I’m just wrapping it up to keep it warm so it’ll heal faster.” 

I’d always been more interested in biology, genetic makeup, physical build and things like that. The skeletal and muscular systems were things I knew like the back of my hand. I frowned. That seemed highly unlikely given how flexible Stream was and my optic ridge echoed my skepticism. The bond, nearly the third strike out of...oh, about point-zero-one, registered an intentional numbness. 

However, it was both of our inclinations to numb our sides of the bond to keep pain from trickling over. Still. I didn’t really like the way the pit of my tanks felt. After rattling off several different collections of muscles and showed her—as it’s noted that the sciences of life had never been a subject of her interest—on myself as an example to root out the location of where the pain was coming from. I wasn’t convinced afterwards that it was a strain or pull incident at all but she insisted. 

She never came back that early, either. She’d just add kilometre after kilometre, especially if something was on her processor and return later than planned, apologizing that she’d been distracted by a structure or fauna she wanted to investigate. 

Whatever. 

The fact that she’d wrapped it before coming back to our quarters really didn’t sit right, but perhaps she’d gone to see Ratty, too, and stolen some from medbay. If that was the case, I was happy because she’d actually taken some care of herself on purpose. What a step, right?

Not like I take care of myself. But we aren’t talking about me, are we?

The rest of that afternoon and evening came and went without much incident, except for occasional signs I guess I should’ve seen before. Hindsight’s that killer. 

She’d disappear from my sight but not for long, making up various random reasons especially to go back to our quarters for something. 

Life still carried on as usual. Weight training, simulation training, stuff like that. I worked hard and hit really well with sharp shooting that day, enthusiastically, and successfully beat one of the sims I’d fought to secure for a good while now. 

Streamline just looked tired, I guess. Tired and frustrated, maybe? The injury was getting to her, I guessed. Did she take a nap that day? 

Some invisible force wedged itself between our relations. Like a floundering bass on a wooden dock she seemed to be pleading for my help but when I extended that she slipped away. I became a bit nervous, actually. Did I do something wrong? 

When I climbed into bed beside her everything restored itself in a way. She cuddled up to me close, and I wrapped a servo over her torso to hug form close. I recharged well that night, courtesy of the hard day of training and mental fatigue of worrying over something that was just a ‘cable strain’.

She didn’t sleep well at all. I knew this. She didn’t want me to. 

“Why don’t we go wash up in the washracks this morning, yeah? Neither of us did last night and we have a free morning. You obviously aren’t going running or doing much training because of your injury.”

“I don’t really think that’s necessary, honestly.”

“Why not? You hiding something from me?” It was mostly a joke and my tone echoed as much, but let me tell you: I was not convinced.

“Fine. We can go to the washracks,” Streamline didn’t answer the question, stood gingerly and winced. Frustration edged her field and she left without saying a word. 

Watching after her whilst gathering supplies: “She is so screwing herself over,” I couldn’t help but relieve my stress with a little laugh. It wasn’t hard to catch up to gimpy, either, so record time wasn’t all that bad to beat the normally speedster to the door. I held it for the seeker and received a thank you but not without a general anxiety feeling at the sight of the door moments before. 

Not good.

So, the three of us stepped into the middle section between the shower and outside world. We elbowed at the rising pressure and anxiety that occupied most of the silent space—save for the several others that were also washing off—between us. Streamline just stared at me with distant, tired half lids that on other days would drive me up a wall in so many ways. Unmoving. Anger for no reason shone through the bond immensely more than it should’ve. 

It wasn’t at me. 

“Unwrap the bandage,” I tread carefully, voice low. The impending impossibility to miss the flinch of terror and pinched nerves cross her face plates. Shifting around her and feeling more than constricted by the air surrounding, I flicked the knob and started the stream of warm water. 

“I think I’m gonna leave it.”

There was my answer, but I was gonna let it play out anyway. She could suit herself, I say. Not moments later she shifted into the water but didn’t stand directly in it. I waited. 

Waited just a moment more. And…

Primus, I hate being right. I hate it so much. 

A gasp echoed from inside and the bond tightened from its previous tense slack. I pulled the door open and sighed. Her faceplates contorted with pain and the water soaked immediately through the bandage which revealed blood from moments passed. She clung to me immediately, held my shoulders to steady, tears threatening their wretched interjection. 

“Okay, okay. Relax, relax,” I breathed and turned the water back to the off position. Offering some steadying semblance of something to lean on, I gently removed the sticky tape at the very top and peeked only to find the most wretched gash I had ever seen. Tepid infection reached at my senses, and I quickly retreated away from it. Taking hold of our things quickly, I swung her into a bridal carry and trudged back to our quarters. 

Unwarranted frustration that would help no one and no thing hit me like a wall, but her childlike hiding in the crevice of my arm restored a different form of concern and general nervousness. Being mad wouldn’t help anything or anyone. Some semblance of actual proactivity verses reactivity would have solved this so much earlier. 

I should’ve known. 

“No. No no no no no. You aren’t doing that—it will heal all by itself you don’t need to do that.”

“We have to clean that out,” I said matter-of-factly, digging through our growing medical kit to find the correct topical soak. We always had some made or usually did in case of these moments—

Bingo. I sighed. In all honestly I hadn’t wanted to find any at all. Mostly because I wanted to stall as long as seriously possible before having to do what I had to do; but that wouldn’t avoid it. One thought incurred, but it would be terribly wasteful to ‘spill’ it all over the floor and have to make more. A whole mess. She’d still be in pain. I’d still have to clean it. 

All of it. 

I regretted a lot of things simultaneously as I felt the cold liquid run through the saturated towel onto my servo beneath it. I wish I would’ve made her unwrap that wrap sooner, followed her to figure out what was really going on, and forced her to go to the washracks that first night, only twelve hours after she’d gotten that injury. Whatta dumbaft, letting her get away with that. That was supposed to be my job, keeping her out of trouble and hers was to keep me from doing the reckless things I wanted to do. 

And a smack dab failure on my part is going to result in an exhaustive following few hours. The way she fidgeted on my berth, her wings drooped and her helm hung low. Look, I didn’t want to do it either, sweetspark, but it had to be done. 

If that infection was left for even twenty four hours more there would be a serious, serious problem. Just gotta do it. Alright, BBop, you can do this. I promise it’ll be okay. 

Was I telling her or was I telling myself?

In the back of my processor I honestly wasn’t quite sure how exactly to do this, save for my assuredness I’d have to hold her still upwards towards twenty minutes (although I’ll admit there was hope for more like fifteen if at all possible). The best option after a while was to have antibacterial salve and bandages ready and over there to get it all said and done as soon as possible without having to move around all that much. I didn’t want to have to jar anything, especially if I established a good grip where Streamline couldn’t squirm away. 

Setting my supplies out of the way on the berth gently, I almost forgot a datapad to use as a timer even though my internal clock was pretty reliable. She flinched and moved away from me and I gave her servo a gentle squeeze. Another huff from my vents. The bond was wide open probably involuntarily but probably to communicate trust even if she didn’t want any part of what was going on. 

She was hurting but didn’t want to hurt more. 

I shoved all of our blankets out of the way and leaned back against the wall as my own support. Grabbing her by the armpits, I drug her gently over to sit half on my lap and half on the berth between. I wasn’t quite sure how the hell to work around her wings, exasperation threatened to edge my voice but I kept it in check. Turning her sideways and manually folding her wings after asking her to relax, I had space to work. 

My ankles clasped around her shins tightly, her armor icy cold in anticipation. I gently began unraveling the athletic tape she’d wrapped as a makeshift bandage and was thankful she at least had a gauze pad between the sticky and the wound. I didn’t want to have to rip that off more than I’d have to peel the fuzzy gauze. 

Streamline was already flinching. God, she was already hurting. 

Her grip was already tightening around my wrists, not pulling them away but just holding there in anticipation. On any other day, she’d merely have hopped on my lap and sat there comfortably, to distract me or something or another. 

Normal days entailed intentional distracting from studies. She’d chuck a pillow at my helm or vault over my shoulders while I studied criss-cross on the floor. Usual times and usual measures, normally it wouldn’t be a bad reason. Our quarters were set aside for closeness. Gentleness.

Never was it intended to reflect our past...living arrangements. I didn’t envy the medical berth and wasn’t ready to resemble such a device. 

The sharp inhale as I pulled the corner across and folded the bloodied cloth up made me bite my tongue. It looked worse than what I had imagined. Sure, I’d caught a glimpse of the small start of the gash in the wash racks but didn’t envision anything quite the likes of this. 

I thanked Primus for our thick walls and wrapped my arm around the other side of her to hold at least one arm down, securing that grip around her torso on the other side. 

Hitting the timer set for go like a skittish animal, everything went to hell from here. 

Streamline tried so hard to hold it together, keep the screams at bay. She tried to keep her optics dry and intake quiet. Attempted to stay still, relax and let everything run its own course. 

Sure, I knew she had a lot of fight in here. I watched her be experimented on for what felt like never-ending days on end, and she would curse at Shockwave until she got lightheaded. Growing used to the screams never got easier, though. They haunted me. Threatened to rip my throat cables out during the night. She would scream my name, plead for help. There was nothing I could do. 

The soaked cloth almost sizzled with the success when it came in contact with the wound. The piercing scream and cry no one ever would want to hear again echo in their sensitive audials erupted from the intake I would rather kiss than hear sob in pain. Chest heaving with heavy sobs, she rared back like a broncho and fought more wild than a predacon. 

Stopping will hurt her worse. Stopping will hurt her worse. Stopping will hurt her worse. 

Didn’t feel that way. The way her wings shot up nearly fast enough to break my grip and the way she squirmed and flailed even though I knew it hurt to do that. The walls reverberated even more of the noise, screams for me to let go and to stop...things I might not be able to forget. 

Sweet nothings over the sobs rolled off of my glossa like sweet honey bees but her sobs drowned them out. The sounds of her fighting me, me keeping her still took away all hope of hearing. I had to grip too hard to have a chance to stroke her wings or helm. The clock barely ticked past a minute. Pressure on the wound increased and her entire body trembled and she screamed again, her digits squeezing around my wrists and trying to pull them away. 

Tears that I couldn’t remove stung her faceplate, or perhaps they stung mine as I watched them trace her face with such a viciousness, such agony. Pain. I wanted to stop it all. Two minutes. 

Exhaustion nearing the halfway mark drew her energy, the screaming subsided from top of lung to a calmer state, if that’s a decent way to describe it. She just kept crying, the weakness in her fighting lowered my spirits. “Don’t move.”

She could hear me now, and I was thankful. Removing my death-grip, I grabbed the bottle and re-soaked the cloth for the second dose. The container was nearly empty, and restoring my hold somewhat, on a whim I poured the rest of the icy cold liquid into the gash and then restored pressure. 

I’m not sure now, in hindsight if I should’ve done that. She wasn’t quite ready for that kind of quick shock. 

Everything started all over again. She was just hurting and I just held her as best I could, whispering things I wished would calm her but nothing ever worked. I tried so hard, I wanted the time to speed up. The intensity to slow down. The wound to be gone. 

We can’t always have what we want. 

Finally twenty long minutes ticked by and I threw the cloth as hard as I could into the waste bin we had, wanting nothing to do with that wretched thing. As fast as possible I bandaged it all up with the salve smeared all over the soft mesh. She cried through the entire process of that, too, but I think that’s because she was ready to be held. And in pain. 

I bet she could feel the agony I was mulling over, the nerves I couldn’t quite tamp down all the way. I felt responsible for that. I felt terrible. 

Finally releasing my hold on her shaking body, I turned her around carefully and kissed her forehelm gently. Rubbing long lines along her arms up to her shoulders, cleaning her face off. Her optics lightened with liquid and puffy from agonized exhaustion. 

The sheets remained soaked under them, but an easy lift of the seeker and a spread of one of our blankets over the annoyingly absorbent sheet, she was held close and fast and well, with no worries whatsoever soon after. I pulsed calm and rest through the bond, soon after tense muscles began to relax and she leaned fully into me like old times. 

Delineations at the bases of her wings lulled a gentle night’s terrors to finally rest, the crashing tidal waves of pain and agony tranquilized by light kisses there, where finally recharge was entered.


	8. Day 6 - Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would highly recommend listening to "Pretty Boy" by The Neighborhood while reading this <3

Soft digits traced into grooves and raises in the protoform metal. Cold air met their vulnerable states, armor abandoned nicely on their desks awaiting a nice new touch up coat of paint. Perhaps a good winterize for topcoat protection. 

The whole nine yards. 

In the meantime, the opportunity to take a deep vent and hide under the heated blankets with just themselves and nothing else drew like an insect to a stadium light. Bodies curved together with every space filled with something except the silence, which was filled with their space heater’s hum and BBop’s dull speaker existence. Every once and awhile the heater would hiccup for a moment, a little louder than the moment before, and then return to normalcy. Sooner or later that rustbucket would wear out. 

It’d lasted them long enough, like those coats of paint did. Bought it at the underground market last time they’d visited on the Motivum Metro. Before everything went to pit over there. Although ‘Con occupation picked up, it didn’t limit the market much. They needed things as much as the Autobots did, and the Motivums saw to it that peace was kept on their grounds. Peace or death. Wasn’t a hard decision to make for most. 

The frigid fragility surrounding took a more violent approach from the vent in the floor, even fighting against the nice heater, but weighted blankets and light touch and loving tracing did the trick to protect. Mental shields from the impending attacks potentially awaiting an opportunity to burst alight in an eruption stood rigid and ready. 

Soft lips and bliss met the scars that wrote themselves on the eggshell-frail endoskeleton like dastardly claw rakes. At first the seeker kissed the broken nose of the wrecker extremely gently, the gesture barely even there. Like a phantom ghost. Or like the past. 

Wisps of wind and breezes of compassion completed their quests, pausing at each scar on the silver armor-abandoned and battered chest and then trailed to find her tank. Her light vents and comfortable existence echoed content, and it was like each fleeting kiss shone a new...okayness. Suddenly it was alright for their existence to be. 

The past rared its head as a more manageable piece of history and an even smaller puzzle piece of themselves altogether. It reminded them of times past, in their room—no, cell, when they would hold each other and trace scars or lightly rub wounds or bruises. It was like they tried to prove that it was perfectly okay to be imperfect and to be inflicted. 

It didn’t mean the pain or memories would fade. The screams and cries erupting from that operating table, the eerie drip of the energon of their best friend’s lines falling to the floor when finally they’d pass out from pure pain exposure. 

At those times they know the scientist is holding the individual’s offlined body gently, softly caressing her face with buried senses in his neck with limp and slack features. The pain has ceased for momentary lulls. Soon it will erupt again. And again. And again. 

Those nights, even when they were tiny and helpless, they’d kiss each other’s forehelms because that would bring comfort. The wrecker’s favorite things were to tickle or tell jokes after the other’s opportunities for operations or beatings even if the risk caused their angel of death to throw or kick her against the back wall. “Be quiet,” He’d say. 

It made no difference to her. She would trace the little wings that weren’t even used to fly quite yet. It helped recharge come more quickly. That’s all that mattered.  
Often the blue and orange wrecker’s own body was bruised and battered, and the seeker’s wings would droop but not for all too long. She would outline each new speaker and hum music as if the taller of the two was playing it along. And her audial horns would be traced and lightly kissed even when they were ultra small. Wiping the tears of the femme she came to know as her greatest ally was always on the agenda first, then following she would do funny impersonations (usually of the purple evil that recharged outside in his own quarters with the door cracked open) of others. The giggle of what would come to become her amica was what she always desired and wouldn’t give up until she heard it. 

Back to their roots. 

“I love everything about you. You are enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone send help my soccer coach literally just took me off the varsity roster wtf. literally a month ago she told me id be her first choice and now im not even on the roster hahahaha


End file.
